


we are what we are

by elmsinthunder



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmsinthunder/pseuds/elmsinthunder
Summary: They're different people when they're alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> you may be wondering, where is frank? couldn't tell you

It’s 6:30pm on a Tuesday. The sun is going down over Philadelphia. Just like they’ve been doing for a decade, the friends have spent another day doing nothing but drinking, talking over each other, and absentmindedly refilling the barflies’ drinks. They’ve been bored recently. With nothing new to get angry about, they’ve been having the same tired arguments; insulting Charlie’s illiteracy, reminding Dee that she’s a bird, rolling their eyes every time Mac brings up karate. In other words, business as usual.

When Dennis feels (maybe?) sober enough to drive, he gets up to leave. His friends assume that he’s found some new target to seduce and they continue their conversation with barely a glance in his direction as he walks out the front door. A few minutes later, Mac leaves too, explaining that he needs to be home if anyone’s going to be D.E.N.N.I.S’ed tonight. Dee and Charlie sit and drink for a while, enjoying the peace that inevitably falls over the bar once the others are gone. Eventually, even that becomes boring and Dee heads home, leaving Charlie in charge of Paddy’s until closing time. 

————————————-

Dennis isn’t looking for sex tonight. Well, maybe he is but more importantly, he’s looking for something to make him feel less alone. Even with his best friends, even with his twin sister, he’s never really there. He’s never connected. His face feels warm and he’s comfortably buzzed, to the point that he isn’t worried about much, just enjoying the wind through the open window of the Range Rover and the sound of Steve Winwood on the radio. This is what it feels like, he reminds himself. This is what it feels like to be alive. He’s driving fast, past the city limits and down the Schuylkill and he’s the only one on the road. Looking around, a bizarre urge comes over him and for just a second, he closes his eyes. He’s tearing down the highway blind and the sheer insanity and the thrill of it is like ice water to the face. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. 

—————————————-

Mac is suffering. He’s in his room, the lights are off, and he’s slowly banging his head against the wall. He’s begging God to stop this, begging Him to take this feeling away. He didn’t ask to be like this. He didn’t ask to see Dennis as anything but a friend, doesn’t want to keep thinking about his face, his hair, his fucking body. He’s a good Catholic schoolboy. He knows the rules. Running his fingers along a rosary, he mutters the words that have been drilled into him his whole life. If he prays hard enough, God will listen. Redemption is possible for those who believe. He wants to believe, but oh God, he believes in Dennis too. He believes in the touch of his hands, the sound of his voice, the rock-hard certainty with which he makes decisions. He closes his eyes and waits for answers. 

——————————————

Dee’s pacing the floor of her apartment, running her hands through her hair. She should probably just go to bed, but she knows it won’t happen tonight. It’s been a long day of nonstop arguing and she’s itching to feel something other than anger. Her hands are shaking. Suddenly, she turns on her heel and races into her bedroom, tearing open her bedside drawer. Last week, she finished up her backup stash, so now she’s looking for the backup backup stash, the little envelope she promised Charlie that she would never touch unless it was absolutely necessary. With a sigh of relief, she pulls out the piece of paper that’s been folded up into a tiny packet and flattens it out on the surface of the nightstand. She bends down and rails the entire pile of powder. She tilts her head back, and yes, Sweet Dee Reynolds is herself again. 

—————————————-

It’s closing time at Paddy’s Pub, and there isn’t an employee in sight. The only indications of life are the strange sounds coming from the ceiling. Charlie’s in the attic, in his bad room. He hasn’t been up here in a while, but he’s incredibly high right now. It’s not the fun kind of high, it’s the closest-I-can-get-to-dying-without-actually-being-dead kind of high, and he’s not sure what to do with himself. He smashes another bottle against the wall and laughs hysterically. He sits down. He stands up. He leans against the wall and barks out a sob. This is who he is and who he’ll ever be. It’s a barely a life, but Charlie’s a survivor, and he’ll take this over nothing.


End file.
